


stars, hide your fires

by see_addy_write



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Families of Choice, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-03-09 11:12:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18915793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/see_addy_write/pseuds/see_addy_write
Summary: There’s a moment of tense silence as Alex levers himself out of the computer chair and takes a few steps, working the stiffness from sitting too long out of his bad leg. “We’re not running,” he repeats, and this time, his voice is full of purpose. “I have an idea. It’s -- awful, but it’s the only way we’re going to be able to live out our lives without constantly looking over our shoulders.” Alex straightens his spine and stands at his full height, regarding Kyle solemnly and making it as clear as he can that he’s not going to hear any arguments.“I’m going to infiltrate Project Shepherd, and we’re going to bring them down.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i've been working on this fic for a week. i've started it at least ten times, tried to cut pieces of it, and it just -- is determined to be a multi-chapter fic. right now i'm probably looking at ten chapters, if all goes to plan, and it's going to be a wild ride. my goal is to update at least twice a week; please feel free to keep me accountable. 
> 
> based on this prompt from @roswellprompts: “post-finale. malex eventually, preferably. alex goes undercover with his brothers to learn about the weapon they’re developing and pretends he’s on their side. everyone suspects he’s truly gone dark. even alex can’t tell the difference sometimes.”
> 
> thanks to @soberqueerinthewild for letting me rant about this fic, reading over it, & for basically being the best. also, thanks to @ubiestcaelum for Hunter’s name & being generally awesome. 
> 
> title is from Shakespeare's _Macbeth_ , Act I Scene IV. "Stars, hide your fires; let not light see my black and deep desires."
> 
> Rating, warnings, and tags are subject to change as we progress through the story, so please make sure to check! Take care of yourselves. <3

“Manes, come on,” Valenti whines from behind Alex, sounding more like a disappointed teenager than the fully grown, mature man he’s supposedly become. “Liz is cooking at Evans’ tonight, and neither of us get enough home cooking to miss it.” 

The feel of displaced air on the back of his neck as Kyle steps up behind him makes Alex tense a little -- it’s hard to relax with people out of his line of sight, even when it’s someone he trusts. Old habits die hard, and Alex has plenty of reason to remain vigilant. But since Kyle Valenti has somehow stepped back into his life and decided to fill the position of ‘best friend’ that he’d vacated back in high school, Alex doesn’t react, and only rolls his eyes at the whining. 

“You’re only this desperate to go because you know Liz is bringing Arturo’s enchiladas,” Alex teases him, knowing full well that no one would be this excited over Liz’s cooking. The woman is a genius with lab equipment, but she lacks when it comes to measuring cups and kitchen timers. He’s learned that the hard way over the many dinner get-togethers their little circle has held in the last several months. It’s a habit Liz started when Rosa was first brought back, and she, Michael, and Isobel were still grieving Max, and it’s continued even now that Rosa has fully reintegrated to Roswell living and they’ve successfully managed to bring Max back from the dead. 

Alex won’t admit it aloud, but those dinners have quickly become his favorite part of the week. Having Liz and Rosa around so often is a balm to the loneliness he’s been battling for months, and when Maria joins them -- still, unfortunately, in the dark about the alien truths -- Alex can almost pretend everything is back to normal. And on top of that, he’s found that he actually likes Max and Isobel Evans, despite rocky beginnings. In some tangential way, they’re family; no matter what his relationship status with Michael, that will always be true. 

And then, of course, there’s the fact that those dinners are the one time that he’s guaranteed to see Guerin smile. They’ve passed the awkward exes phase, and now that the relationship with Maria has died a natural death, Alex doesn’t even feel guilty when their eyes meet and he feels that old, familiar chemistry flare between them. It’s a slow, delicious burn, and he’s looking forward to the resolution. 

“Obviously,” Valenti agrees with an unconcerned shrug, drawing Alex back into their banter and away from distracting thoughts of Guerin. “But if you tell Liz I said that, I’m telling her that you fed the last meal she left for you to the beagle after she left.” He shoves playfully at Alex’s shoulder, and takes the return swat in stride before returning to his attempts at persuasion.“But, seriously, we’ve been through those files a thousand times already. You’re not going to find anything we haven’t already seen, so I think whatever this is can wait until tomorrow so we can go get some decent food for once. Don’t you?” 

It probably could wait until tomorrow. There’s no reason for Alex to believe the incongruous firewall he’d just run into in some of Project Shepherd’s newest files is hiding anything more than the usual information on alien torture disguised as science -- but something in his gut is telling him that he needs to dig deeper, to find out what lies behind the wall of code that had been cleverly hidden in plain sight. And if Alex learned anything during his time on active duty, it’s that he should always trust his gut. 

“You go ahead,” he tells Kyle, most of his attention still directed at the complicated coding sequences he’s creating with sharp, precise movements of his fingers over the keyboard. “Tell everyone I’ll see them soon, but there’s something here, and I --” Alex blinks in surprise, cutting himself off. “-- wow. It’s like they’re not even trying to keep me out.” 

Like most of Jesse Manes’ sad attempts at cyber security, the firewall keeping Alex from the information he wants buckles under the weight of less than five minutes of Alex’s direct attention. He’s not even surprised, anymore -- his father has always been more of a bruiser than a thinker, and coding takes a certain kind of creativity, an ability to create. A man who only knows how to destroy could never possess that skill. 

Both men go silent and still as images begin to pop up on the screens, and Alex swallows convulsively to quell sudden nausea. Surveillance footage from Roswell -- all from the last six months. Somehow, Project Shepherd has remained up and running despite Alex’s father’s sudden disappearance from the scene, and whoever’s behind it has been watching both Evans’ houses, Michael’s trailer, and the Crashdown, from the looks of things. 

Panic begins to swell in the back of Alex’s mind as he remembers all of the things that have happened in those locations -- all of the suddenly not-dead people who have walked through those entryways, all of the alien powers that are showcased so cavalierly in the sanctity of their own homes. Michael’s got his bunker beneath the Airstream, for crying out loud! So many secrets. So many possibilities for discovery. And if Project Shepherd knows the truth, it’s only a matter of time before Michael and his siblings are dragged off to another off-books facility to suffer the same fate as the people they’d watched die at Caulfield. 

Fuck. 

If the surveillance was the worst of it, Alex could have dealt with it. Deleting the photos and video is the work of a moment, and he knows that his brothers -- who have to be heading things up in Jesse’s absence -- don’t have the skills to protect anything online from him. It’s a pain, and he’ll have to keep checking to be certain that new cameras haven’t been positioned, but overall, the situation would be manageable. He could control the intel received, could make sure there was never enough solid evidence to move against Michael or the twins.

But Alex has no power over the half-drawn schematics of the weapon he’s staring at now. 

At least, that’s what he thinks he’s looking at -- he’s no engineer, and the scribbles on the scanned paper may as well be written in Mandarin, for all Alex knows. But the info dump says it’s alien tech of some sort, geared toward taking out their own kind -- and Alex knows, immediately, that he cannot risk his brothers or any military personnel gaining access to it. Not when Alex’s world still at least half-revolves around Michael Guerin, despite their newly minted status as friends. Not when Max and Isobel have somehow become part of his family, too, through his determination to keep Michael in his life and help bring Max back from the dead. Not when Liz and Rosa and Kyle could lose everything, if all of this were brought to light by the wrong people. 

“What do we do with this?” Kyle asks finally, breaking the tense silence in the bunker. It’s been at least twenty minutes of staring, horror-struck at the screen, and Alex is no closer to an answer than he was when they started. “We have to warn them. There’s no way whoever’s running the show --” 

“Flint,” Alex interrupts, his voice hard. “It has to be Flint. And probably the others, too. Dad always drags Charlie along with him on whatever he’s doing, and Hunter’s never too far behind.” Alex’s comment to Flint about mindlessly following the flock is accurate for all of his brothers. With the occasional exception of Charlie, who Alex knows tried to be a better brother to him for a while, they’re all soldiers, highly decorated and respected in their fields -- but none of them have ever been willing to go against their father. 

Kyle’s lips thin, but he nods agreement. “Fine. There’s no way Flint knows about all this and isn’t planning a move, Alex. We’ve gotta get them all out of town. And probably ourselves, too. If they manage to develop this weapon --” 

“We’re not running,” Alex snaps, punching the power control on the monitors so that the screens go dark. He spins his chair to look at Valenti, and knows that the expression on his face is far from reassuring -- he’s simultaneously panicking and furious, and he can’t contain it all within himself without just a little spilling over into his features. 

Because slowly, an idea is forming in the back of his head. No one is going to like it -- God knows Alex doesn’t, but it’s the only way out of this fucking mess that Alex can see, and he’s desperate enough to protect Guerin and the others that he’s willing to take the risk. 

“Alex, I don’t think we have a choice,” Valenti tells him firmly, and Alex’s eyes aren’t the ones that are wide and full to the brim with a frantic need to move, to do something. He starts to pace around Alex’s chair as he speaks, picking up speed with every word and step until it’s hard for Alex to understand. “Even if I was okay with the idea of your dickhead family marching in and kidnapping Evans and the others, I’m the one who put your dad in that coma. How long do you think it’ll take them to connect those dots? They’ll find him. They’ll wake him up, and it won’t just be the aliens they’re after anymore.” 

There’s a moment of tense silence as Alex levers himself out of the computer chair and takes a few steps, working the stiffness from sitting too long out of his bad leg. “We’re not running,” he repeats, and this time, his voice is full of purpose. “I have an idea. It’s -- awful, but it’s the only way we’re going to be able to live out our lives without constantly looking over our shoulders.” Alex straightens his spine and stands at his full height, regarding Kyle solemnly and making it as clear as he can that he’s not going to hear any arguments. 

“I’m going to infiltrate Project Shepherd, and we’re going to bring them down.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex pitches his plan to the others; it goes about as well as can be expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is absolutely no way i'll be able to keep up with daily updates, but i've got quite a bit of this written so i'm just editing for continuity & nonsense sentences at this point. 
> 
> a plea: please remember i'm a human being with real feelings behind the screen. if you don't like something about my fic, that's fine -- we all have a right to our opinions, but i don't want to argue about the way i've laid things out in this fic. feel free to ignore the things i post and find fic that hits the right buttons for you. <3

Anxiety is one of the remnants of active duty that Alex can’t shake. His fingers tap a frantic rhythm on his good knee as he watches the group he’s assembled parse through the surveillance footage and the schematics for the weapons, and he catches himself beginning to list all the ways Guerin and the others could blame him for this. He should have found it sooner. He should have pushed harder for information, when Jesse Manes was at his mercy. He should have known his brothers wouldn’t give up this easily just because their father and de facto leader disappeared. Alex should have thought more like a Manes, and less like better man he was trying to become.

He knows that the likelihood of anyone blaming him for those things is next to nothing, logically, but the worry is still there, half-stifled in the back of his mind. It’s especially loud as Guerin snatches the schematics and begins muttering to himself, and even consulting Liz on something that looks like an equation on the lower corner of the scans. Alex keeps his eyes on those two -- it’s easier than looking at Isobel’s ashen, waif-like countenance or the barely-contained fury on Max’s face. The lights keep flickering on and off, and Alex knows that he’s struggling to contain his powers. Alex thinks that’s understandable, but he might be the only one, judging by the sharp looks the others keep sending him. 

“Evans, do you mind?” Valenti is finally the one to snap. “We’re all worried! But no one can read without lights, and if we’re still under surveillance, the fireworks show inside might seem a little freaking suspicious!” 

Max’s lips tighten, but the lights steady and hold. 

Alex lets them have another twenty minutes of trying to search for a way out of the mess in front of them before he clears his throat. Six pairs of eyes bearing various signs of horror and resignation look up at him, and Alex’s heart beats a little faster before he finds the calm, calculating place in the back of his mind that allowed him to survive ten years as an active duty codebreaker while men died all around him. 

“Before you all start making plans,” he says calmly, projecting his voice just enough so that everyone in the room can hear him. “Just listen for a minute, okay?” There are a few nods, and after a moment, Alex continues, knowing that in their confusion and fear, they will respond to a voice laden with authority -- just like soldiers in the middle of an op gone tits-up. “Project Shepherd is my father’s pride and joy. It’s a family legacy, and has been for generations. There’s no way he’s given the keys to the kingdom away to random strangers.” Alex glances at Kyle, who nods once, encouraging. “This has to be my brothers. Kyle, Guerin, and I ran into Flint when we went to Caulfield --” The aliens all flinch in tandem at the words. Alex wants to reach out for Michael, seated to his left, to offer some measure of comfort at the bleak reminder, but he doesn’t have that right anymore, even if they are friends. And Michael is already stowing his grief behind a fierce mask, anyway, and wouldn’t appreciate the attempt if it was made. “And I’m pretty confident in guessing that Charlie and Hunter are involved, too.” 

There’s a low mutter of discontent from Liz, whose dark eyes are blazing with badly-contained anger. Alex knows how she feels. Max runs a hand down her arm as he watches Alex, waiting for the rest of whatever he has to say, and Rosa leans in closer, looking more confused than anything. There’s still so much about the time before her resurrection that she doesn’t know, despite their best efforts to bring her up to speed. 

“I know those guys,” Alex plods forward, refusing to be distracted. “I know how they work, and they’re not going to stop coming for us unless we stop them. And I think the only way we’re going to do that is by getting someone on the inside. Someone who knows how they work, someone with the training and the skills to make them think that he can help.” 

Guerin’s body goes rigid next to Alex, and Liz surges to her feet, but none of it stops Alex from saying: “I’m going to do it. I can get the information we need to bring in the government, or higher-ups in the military, and keep your names out of it. If I’m the one undercover, I control the narrative -- it’s the perfect set-up to make sure they all end up in a military prison, at the very least.” 

Chaos erupts in the room around him, and Alex sits back, arms crossed over his chest, and waits. 

****

There’s something grounding about being surrounded by people who all care about each other despite having plenty of reasons not to. Alex has never had a normal family, full of love and bickering and over-protective siblings, but he imagines this is what it would have been like, if he had. Fighting because they _don’t_ want their siblings and loved ones to be hurt, rather than because they do. 

Alex has never had that, not really -- his oldest brother, Charlie, had defended him a few times, but in the end, Jesse Manes’ opinion was the only one that ever mattered in their house, and according to him, Alex _deserved_ to hurt. Eventually, Alex had gotten used to the isolation and abuse within his home, and he’d learned at a young age that sharing blood did not mean sharing love. He’d hidden his softest parts behind a sharp tongue and a rough exterior, complete with piercings and a ‘fuck off’ expression that kept even the most determined teachers and their questions at bay. Liz, Maria, and Rosa were the only ones who’d never been fooled, but looking back, Alex can admit that he kept even them at arm’s length. It was necessary, at the time; none of those women were the sort of people who would do nothing if they found out exactly how bad things were for Alex at home, and the last thing he’d wanted was for them to get hurt because of him. 

Needless to say, from that perspective, it’s utterly bizarre to be sitting there, listening to Michael’s little, makeshift family fight him on the course of action he’s chosen to take his father down for good. They’re all trying to _protect him_ \-- even Max, who’s only been breathing again for two weeks and has barely spoken two words to Alex in all of that time. But even still, he’s volunteered himself for the mission instead, on the grounds that he can defend himself with his powers if necessary, and the fact that it’s not fair to ask Alex to move against his own blood.

It’s insane, of course. Max is a cop, but he’s never been a great one; he’s too straight-and-narrow, aside from the lengths he’s willing to go to in order to protect the people he loves. This is the sort of op that requires planning on the fly and subterfuge, and a flexibility that Max just doesn’t have. Not to mention the fact that there’s no way Max will ever learn enough about computers and hacking in time to be any of use to Project Shepherd, and he doesn’t have the family ties that would get the Manes boys to even consider trusting him, even if they haven’t, by some miracle, seen anything suspicious about him on their surveillance footage.

Despite all of that, Alex can’t help but feel a little warmer at the obvious concern, even if he has no idea how to take it. His feelings about Max Evans and his god complex are complicated even on a good day, and Alex isn’t used to this sort of protective behavior. He knows it’s coming from a good place, though -- the one real conversation he and Max have had was about Michael, and the fact that if Guerin sees Alex as family, Max does too, no matter what their relationship status might be. 

So, yes. Alex would be lying if he said that it isn’t oddly nice to have people worrying about him, but eventually, enough is enough.

He’d gone silent as soon as the fighting started; Kyle had warned him that no one was going to like the idea of Alex going undercover with Project Shepherd, and Alex had predicted Michael’s immediate and absolute denial -- but this is his decision. His family, his legacy -- his responsibility. If he’s ever going to feel like it’s safe to be with Michael again, if he’s ever going to feel free of his father and his damned battles, Alex has to do this. There’s no other way out from beneath his shadow, and Alex has spent enough of his life missing the sun.

Alex has to do this, and no one is going to stop him -- no matter how good their intentions. 

“It’s gotta be me,” Alex says loudly, adopting a tone of command that he’d learned in the middle of the desert in wartime. It effectively silences the squabbles filling the room, and again, six pairs of eyes turn to him, some incredulous, others resigned -- and one pair of beloved brown orbs full of vehement denial. But Alex sits tall on the couch, meeting each gaze in turn with steely determination, hoping that he looks more confident in his own abilities than he feels. His brothers aren’t stupid, and there’s a good chance they’ll see through his ruse, but he has the best chance of fooling them -- and Alex isn’t willing to risk anyone else. “Come on, guys, you know it has to be me. No one else knows Charlie and Flint like I do, and no one else has the training to be useful to their project.” 

Alex doesn’t know how he ended up as a member of this eclectic little family, but it’s happened, and he’d do a thousand horrible things before he let anything happen to any of them. Lying to the family he’d grown up with seems like a small price to pay in order to keep them safe. Michael has always deserved happiness and safety, and while Max and Isobel have their issues, they aren’t anything like the villainous aliens Jesse Manes laments about. And Liz, Rosa, and Kyle -- they deserve better than lives on the run, too, which is what awaits them if Project Shepherd ever finds out about their ties to the aliens. 

Alex allows himself a moment to reflect on the way they’d all come together, in the wake of Max’s death, as a way to remind himself of why he’s doing this. It had happened in fits and starts, with plenty of stalling. At the beginning, he’d stayed strictly to the periphery. Most of that had been his own choice; in the wake of Michael’s decision to pursue a relationship with Maria, it had been easier to just keep his distance and try to keep moving forward with his own healing. 

It only took a month for Michael’s relationship with Maria to end, though, and Alex found himself as a Max fill-in, bailing the other man out of the drunk tank and hiding the acetone when it looked like Michael might drown in it. It’s not an auspicious start to a friendship, especially considering their history, but after several awkward interludes and false starts, they manage to find even ground. Alex doesn’t think they’ll ever quite manage a completely platonic friendship, but they’ve found something that works for them -- something that someday, they hope can become something more. 

Michael isn’t the only one who gets tangled up in Alex’s life in those rough months. After a few weeks of private grief, Liz showed up, wanting access to the Caulfield files to look for intel that could help bring Max back from the dead. She’d mentioned in passing that they needed help making sure that no one would question the cover story for Rosa’s miraculous return, so Alex had been the one to put enough of a digital footprint online so that anyone but an experienced hacker would have to believe she’d been kidnapped, not murdered, ten years past. 

And then, somehow, the Ortecho sisters became regular fixtures in his cabin. It seemed like one of them was always there, cooking burned meals in his scarcely-used kitchen or dragging in a television set from Arturo’s basement when they noticed Alex didn’t have one. It hadn’t taken much for Alex to remember how much he’d adored Rosa as a teenager, or why Liz had been one of his closest friends for well over a decade before they drifted apart -- and he couldn’t deny that he’d been grateful to feel less isolated from the town.

From there, it all spiraled into weekly dinners and brainstorming sessions, to sharing his space and his time with these people as they fought back against what seemed like the inevitable. They’d won against it before, and Alex is absolutely certain that they can again. But they need to all be on the same page, first. 

“Max can defend himself if he has to,” Michael points out before Alex says anything more, shoving himself forward on the couch to bring his body within touching distance of Alex. It’s the closest they’ve been in months, and Alex hates the way his heartbeat speeds up just from the proximity. “No one in your family knows that he’s an alien, plus he’s a deputy. Your dad wanted Cam’s input from the Sheriff’s office -- I bet your brothers will want what he can tell them, too. It’s a way in.” 

Alex tries to decide whether Michael has so much faith in Max that he believes he can pull off an op like this, or if he’s just so sure that Alex can’t that he’s scrambling for any better option. Neither speak positively about Michael’s headspace, and Alex isn’t sure he wants to know the real answer. Michael’s been incredibly protective of his brother since his resurrection, though -- it seems strange that he’s willing to go along with Max’s self-sacrificing offer.

“Are you forgetting we just brought Max from the dead?” Isobel interjects shrilly, before Alex gets the chance to figure out what the hell Michael is thinking. She directs her icy gaze at Michael, and then at Alex, as if he hadn’t just told the entire room that he’s got to be the one to join Project Shepherd. Isobel’s been the quietest since they all arrived, and is pressed into Max’s side in a way that even Liz isn’t, though she’s still sitting close. Alex knows Isobel’s still trying to pull herself together from the realization that her husband was a mass-murdering psychopath for the duration of their marriage, and understands that she has the right to heal in her own way, but he’s getting tired of being the subject of her ire. “Like hell are we sending him straight to a bunch of people who want to cut him open and play mad scientist with his guts!” 

“Give me a break, Isobel!” Michael snaps back at his sister. “I’m not trying to get him killed! But he’s got a better chance of defending himself than Alex, if shit gets ugly. I’d go if I could, but I’m on a fucking watchlist. There’s no way they’d buy it.” 

He sends a look at Max that Alex can’t really see, but the taller man nods once, and rests a hand on Isobel’s shoulder. “Michael’s being smart, Iz,” he says quietly. “We can’t send Alex into Project Shepherd to --”

“I don’t think we should be sending anyone!” Isobel interrupts, and crosses bare arms over her chest. Fire dances in her eyes as she stares around the room at the assemblage, and for once, Alex is reminded of the intimidating teenage girl from high school who’d had every straight guy at Roswell High panting after her. Lately she’s seemed more like a shadow than that person, and Alex can admit that he’s glad to see her regaining some of herself -- even if it’s the more difficult parts. “This is all stupid. Starting up some kind of super-spy mission is asking for them to figure out our secret if they don’t already know. No one’s made a move on us, yet. There’s still time for us to get out of town; we don’t need to risk anyone for the sake of information. It’s not worth it!”

Isobel has suffered so much loss already that Alex can understand her point of view. There’s a risk to this op, and not just to Alex -- if he fails, there’s a high probability the entire truth will come out. It’s not a big leap from Alex being a traitor to the rest of them being involved, and from there, it’s a pretty easy supposition that Jesse Manes might have been right about who in Roswell might be from another planet. She’s thinking ahead and weighing the consequences against the possible reward -- and to her, it’s not coming out even.

“Do you really want to live the rest of your life looking over your shoulder, Isobel?” Alex asks softly, ignoring the way that Guerin is practically thrumming with anger in the seat next to him. He’ll deal with him soon -- but first, he needs to get everyone else settled down. Kyle is already in the corner, talking to Liz and Rosa in a low, soothing whisper. It strikes Alex then how lucky he is to have Valenti on his side, especially considering he doesn’t like the plan anymore than they do. He’s trusting Alex to make the right calls, and that means a hell of a lot. 

“I know my family. They’re not going to stop coming. Eventually, even if they can’t get video or photos, they’ll come to town and ask the right questions to the right people. They’ll hear about Rosa Ortecho’s magical reappearance after ten years. They’ll hear about Michael’s hand, or the bizarre power outage, or the lawyer who just up and disappeared. Or maybe they’ll stop by the diner, or the hospital and find dad in that coma, and he’ll just give them all the answers when he wakes up.” That particular scenario is terrifying, and Alex pushes forward, refusing to dwell, or feel guilty for telling the bald-faced truth, despite the growing disquiet on his friends’ faces. “There are thousand ways for them to find out the truth, and to hurt you. Running isn’t going to make a difference. They’ll find you, eventually. It’s a delaying tactic, not a solution.” 

Alex exhales slowly, gives everyone a moment to process his logic, and finishes: “So I’m going to take them down from the inside, and I’d really like you all to help me -- from a safe distance. If you don’t want to, I understand, but I _am_ doing this. With or without your blessing.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The others might be on board, but Michael's still got concerns that need to be addressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's some Malex content for y'all; the fighting & the calm before the storm. 
> 
> the next chapter will be up sometime this weekend :) 
> 
> <3

Silence reigns in the spacious room after Alex’s pronouncement, and he forces himself to keep his head up. He hates making a spectacle of himself, hates snapping at them, but for the love of God, his friends making this so much more difficult than it needs to be, and patience can only take him so far. There’s a time for talk and a time for action, and they’ve passed the first and are well into the latter, now. 

It’s Max that breaks the tense silence, beating Michael by a scant instant.

“You’re sure about this?”

“Why do you always have to be such a goddamned martyr?” 

Alex sighs wearily as Liz turns a fierce glare on Michael and mutters something under her breath in Spanish. He takes the coward’s way out and lets her scold him, rather than addressing Michael directly; he knows he’ll have to, at some point, but he also knows it won’t be a quick conversation. So instead, he nods in answer to Max’s question, giving the other man as much of his attention as he can pull from the others. 

“I’m not going to change my mind,” he says through a clenched jaw, stuck on Guerin’s comment despite himself. He’s got no plans of dying for the cause -- but the uncomfortable truth is that he’d rather that than watch his brothers destroy the only real sense of family he’s ever known. And Alex is self-aware enough to admit that he’s got a history of sacrificing his own wants and needs for that of the greater good, and Michael’s born the brunt of that. Of course he’ll be angry when he thinks he’s seeing more of the same. 

But this isn’t Alex enlisting, or even taking a mission that will cost him his leg. This isn’t an invented excuse to walk away from Michael -- they aren’t together, and haven’t been in months. They’re friends, they’re _family_ , and this is different from what’s happened in the past. This time, Alex is doing this _for_ Michael. He’s protecting him, and the people they both care about. He’s finally fighting a battle that he’s chosen for himself for all the right reasons, rather than letting Jesse Manes dictate to him, and Alex is proud of that fact. It’s the culmination of all the work he’s been doing on himself over the last year, and he refuses to lose any of that forward momentum by listening to well-intentioned people trying to keep him safe. 

Hopefully, Guerin will come to understand that, in time. And if he doesn’t, Alex has proven he can live without him. He’s not going to fall apart if Michael walks away again, even if the thought of it knocks the breath from his lungs and makes the the future seem long and lonely. He’s strong enough to survive alone, to be happy -- and damn, where’s his shrink when he’s making all this progress? Maybe if she could hear this, she’d finally get off of his back about writing down his feelings before every session.

“Alex?” Liz’s worried voice pulls him back into the conversation, and Alex shoots what he hopes is a reassuring look in her direction. 

When he speaks again, it’s slowly, each word chosen with careful precision for maximum impact. He keeps his fingers still on his thighs and squares his shoulders, determined to make them hear him, this time. “I’m not letting Flint and the others find dad. I’m not letting them hurt anyone else, whether it’s someone in this room or other people that he’s holding in another off-books base like Caulfield. I’m sure, okay? I’m _sure_.”

The words are for everyone still looking at him uncertainly, like they’re not sure if they should be tying him up in the basement or supporting him -- and finally, finally, Alex begins to read unwilling acceptance in their expressions. 

Max nods, looking older in that moment than his years of life suggest. Alex forgets sometimes that the Deputy has spent most of his life hiding secrets and trying to protect his siblings -- and failing spectacularly, especially in Michael’s case. Those failures are written in the lines on his face, in the weariness of his expression, and Alex realizes belatedly that if his brothers end up hurting him during this operation, Max is going to blame himself. 

Finally, Max leans forward and rests a hand on one of Guerin’s tense shoulders. Alex’s eyes track the motion against his will and eventually land on the strained lines of Michael’s body and the nearly visible cloud of defensive anger and anxiety that’s all but choking him. There’s a flinch at Max’s touch, but he doesn’t push him away. He turns his head, instead, and meets his brother’s gaze head-on. Something passes between them; Alex doesn’t know if it’s a psychic exchange or just the nonverbal communication of two people who know each other so well that they barely need words, but there’s obviously some sort of conversation occuring. 

It lasts for about a minute. Then, Michael bursts into motion, shoving himself to his feet and away from both Alex and Max and any attempt at calming him. “Fuck you, Max! If this was Liz, there’s no way you’d go along with this!” he bellows, and the knick-knacks on the TV stand rattle ominously as his hands curl into fists at his sides. The others look up from their small huddle at the sound; Kyle has steered Rosa and Isobel back to the surveillance footage while the rest of them argued, but they’re obviously all listening, now. 

“Because I’m not a trained military operative,” Liz points out pragmatically, though Alex hears the hesitation underlying the supportive statement. He doesn’t hold it against her -- this shit is scary, and he’d be a little miffed if she were willing to throw him into the lion’s den without even a moment’s hesitation. “You’re not giving Alex enough credit, Michael. If he says he can do this, we need to believe him. And help, instead of wasting our time fighting about it.” 

Michael ignores her, which isn’t all that surprising. “You’re not doing this,” he says flatly, arms crossed over his chest and eyes narrowed deliberately in Alex’s direction. He’s braced for a fight, and clearly knows he’s about to start one -- wants to, even. 

And God help him, Alex can’t stop himself from giving in. Fighting with Guerin is second-nature; sometimes, it seems that all they’ve done for the last ten years is fight and fuck, and since they’re no longer able to do the latter, they’ve had to fight twice as much to make up for it. 

“Yes, I really fucking am,” Alex snaps, as does his rapidly thinning patience. No one dictates to him what he can and cannot do anymore, not even Michael Guerin, and the pronouncement is absolutely the last straw. “I didn’t come here to ask permission. I came here because you all deserve to know what’s going on, and I’ll admit, I was hoping for some help in the planning department, since you know things I don’t.” Those words are directed at the entire group, even though most of them seem to be backing off to let Alex and Michael settle this between themselves. They all know of their history, of their drama, and Alex is fairly sure not one of them wants to get in the middle of it. 

“I’m a goddamned Airman, Guerin!” Alex continues heatedly, still fuming over the flat refusal from earlier. “I served three tours and ten years active duty. I am fully capable of taking down Project Shepherd, and I don’t need you babying me! So if all you’re going to do is try to talk me out of it, or say I can’t possibly do this, I’m leaving.” 

If he’s too blunt, Alex doesn’t care. He’s tired of talking about this. He came here to warn them, to start forming a plan, not to fight. Heaving himself to his feet, Alex starts toward the door -- only to find himself brought up short by a rough hand around his wrist, stopping him a mere foot from freedom. 

“Let go of me, Guerin,” he demands, yanking at his arm, but Michael’s grip doesn’t loosen. Instead, he crowds in closer, making Alex’s heartbeat trip in his chest. He’s close enough that Alex can smell his aftershave, can feel the heat wafting off of his body, taking him back to a few, blissful moments of skin-on-skin in the merciless sun of the desert. He doesn’t need it, but the flashback is a good reminder of why Alex is determined to do this. He wants the chance to make things right with Guerin, but neither of them will be able to put Caulfield in the past until Project Shepherd is properly dismantled. That, more than any noble, honorable need to clear his family legacy, is why Alex is here. 

Guerin’s obviously not ready to let this go. Alex can read the anxious energy in the bouncing of his knee and the set of his shoulders as clearly as he can read his own body, and the clench of Michael’s jaw is far from subtle. There’s no avoiding further confrontation, and Alex absolutely refuses to do continue this chat with an audience, even if they’ve all backed off to let the two of them talk. So he cuts off the start of Michael’s furious, “Are you fucking kidding me?” with a sharp shake of his head, then gestures to the door that leads from the living room to Max’s spacious patio. 

“Let’s finish this outside,” he suggests, infusing the words with steel so that it’s clear he’s not really asking. Michael doesn’t always respond well to orders, but when he’s like this, all furious and frantic, they tend to get through the noise in his head faster than a question. Alex notices the look Max and Isobel exchange and the quirk of Liz’s eyebrow, but he pays no attention to them. Instead, he keeps his eyes on Guerin and waits, chin raised and jaw set, but marginally less angry than he’d been a moment ago. 

It takes a moment, but slowly, Michael’s initial flare of temper passes, and he nods curtly. His fingers release Alex’s wrist, immediately prompting a sense of loss, and nothing more is said until they’re outside on the patio, Alex settled in one of the patio chairs while Michael paces, with the door closed firmly behind them.

“Guerin, I -” 

“Why are you doing this?” Michael demands, cutting off any attempt at calming him down. Alex takes a seat in one of the patio chairs, hoping that Michael would follow his lead, but the other man just paces a wide circle around him, frazzled energy radiating from him. There’s a large part of Alex that wants to grab him and just hold on -- the two of them have always been at their strongest, their happiest, together, and even now, Alex thinks he could be a comfort. He knows that Michael’s always been his refuge; he’d like to start returning the favor. 

But now isn’t the time. 

Instead, he needs to answer the question -- but how? He could reiterate the same points that he’s been making all night -- that he’s the only one that has a chance of convincing the other Manes men that he’s on their side, that he’s the only trained soldier with the right skills, that he’s the only one who can infiltrate the project with any degree of success -- but Michael’s heard it all before, and he’s still asking for Alex’s reasons. And, to be honest, if anyone deserves the truth, it’s Michael. 

“ _I have to do this_ ,” Alex states baldly, his chin raised and spine straight, even as Guerin’s eyes search his face, obviously looking for any sign of weakness or uncertainty. As much as he hates fighting with Michael, he’s known this confrontation was inevitable since their impromptu meeting started, and he’s not backing down. “I have to. My dad might be in a coma he’ll never wake up from, but that doesn’t mean all of the horrible things he’s done are just over. There are still people in bases out there being tortured and experimented on. Innocent people! I have a responsibility to shut that project down for good, and I really thought you’d be with me on that!”

“Of course I want the whole thing shut down,” Guerin spits back. Alex watches his hands as his fingers dig into his knees, apparently in an effort to soothe himself. “And fuck you for even suggesting that I don’t. But there’s no reason for you to be the one to do it, Alex. You don’t have a stake in this game anymore. Max and I can -” 

Despite his best intentions, anger flares, red-hot and inexorable, in Alex’s gut. “I don’t have a stake?” he repeats, his voice deadly quiet. Yelling has its place in the battlefield, but he’s learned through trial and error how to get his point across when dealing with all sorts of hot-headed macho types, and raising his voice is never the best way. “My family built those awful places to torture people. My brothers are developing weapons to kill people like you, and stalking you and your family!” Alex sucks in a deep breath and tries to find something with which to center himself, but ultimately still feels like he’s drowning in the fraught emotion surrounding this subject. “I promised my father that I’d be the one to destroy the thing he loved, Guerin. _Me._ Because I knew that it's the only way I'll ever feel free of him. And even if that wasn't true, I'd still owe it to you and the rest of the world to at least make sure that he and my brothers can’t inflict any more damage.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Guerin’s suddenly back in front of Alex, eyes wide and agitation written in every sloping line of his body. It’s hard to look at him, now, because Alex knows what he’s just said and there’s no way to interpret it incorrectly. He tries to stay calm, tries to find the right words to explain, but Michael doesn’t let him get a chance before he’s talking again, this time using words edged in bitterness. “It’s not your responsibility to protect me or Max or Isobel, okay! Your enlistment is almost done -- you’re barely even military anymore! You don’t owe this to the government or anyone, least of all me.” 

“Yeah? And how long could you stand to look at me, knowing that I’m one of the only people in the world who has the skills and the knowledge to destroy the whole operation, but I haven’t done it?” Alex fires back, his heart pounding a loud, frantic rhythm against his ribs. Fighting may be second-nature at this point, but Alex is never going to like it -- and this time, there’s no apology or soothing word that’s going to fix the situation. “God, Guerin, the things they did to your mother--” Alex sighs and runs a hand over his eyes, trying to mask his the guilt the thought brings him. “I’m not a fucking idiot. I know that’s why you went to Maria in the first place. I _know_ you can’t look at me without remembering those awful things. And we can’t put that behind us until Project Shepherd and everyone associated with it are gone.” Quiet, fervent certainty is clear in Alex’s voice, and he hopes he’s not being naive to believe that they’ll ever be able to truly put this nightmare behind them. “And even if you never want to be with me, even if friendship is all I ever get from you, I owe you this. I owe it to _both of us_ , for everything we lost. Can you understand that?” 

Alex swallows when he’s done and looks away, feeling unsteady and emotionally worn. He’s not sure what will happen if Michael _can’t_ understand his reasoning, but he tries not to worry about it. Not before the dust settles in this argument and they can both process.

Michael sucks in a breath like he’s ready to argue further, but then falls silent. It takes a moment for Alex to work up the courage to look back at him, and when he does, he finds the other man much closer than he was only a moment ago. Fading sunlight dances across his features, and it takes an effort not to chase it with his fingertips. Alex is forever lost in a state of wanting to touch Michael, and when he’s this close, that want becomes a physical ache to rival the one in his leg. It’s not fair, that Alex still wants him this much -- even when they’ve not been together for months, when he’s furious for Michael’s attempts to shelter and protect him when it should be the other way around. But it doesn’t matter. He still wants. 

“You’re so goddamned stubborn,” Michael tells him, and Alex is stunned to hear a note of fondness in the words, beneath the frustration. A calloused palm settles over the back of Alex’s where it’s clamped around the armrest of the patio furniture in an attempt to refrain from reaching out to Michael. “Fine. If I’m not going to be able to talk you out of it, then I guess I don’t have much of a choice but to go along with it, do I?” 

Alex huffs, but shakes his head. He feels dizzy with relief after Michael’s words; that’s as close as he’s going to get to acceptance, and he’s going to run with it. The warmth of Michael’s hand is enough to stop the world from spinning too quickly, and Alex wets his lips before saying, “We’ll plan it out together. All of us. And I’ll have check-in times and a back-up plan, I promise. I’m not planning on becoming a martyr, Guerin.”

“You better fucking not be,” Michael growls, and his grip on Alex’s hand tightens. “Because when this is done and behind us, we’re working our shit out, Manes. Enough is enough. We’ve figured out the whole friendship thing -- but I think we both know that’s never going to be all that’s between us.”

Alex’s breath catches in his chest at the unexpected proclamation, and his gaze dips to the hand on his for an instant before fluttering back to Michael’s face. He knows he lingers too long on his lips before reaching his eyes, but he’s only human. “That’s a good incentive to get this wrapped up quickly,” he manages, though his attempt at levity comes out more as a strain. 

Michael nods once, a considering expression on his face. He seems to make a decision fairly quickly, because then he’s leaning down, his hands landing on the armrests on either side of Alex, bracketing him in the chair with his body. Alex lifts chin to try to figure out what Guerin’s thinking -- only to find rough lips against his. It’s so fast that Alex wouldn’t have had a chance to stop it if he wanted, and he certainly doesn’t. Unbidden, both of his hands slide up Michael’s shoulders to fist in his curls, holding him there when he may have pulled away. Alex opens his mouth and deepens the kiss, pouring every ounce of frustrated longing he’s felt over the last six months into it, and tries sear the memory in his own mind. He’ll need it, he knows, to carry him through whatever happens next with this mission.

Eventually, Michael breaks Alex’s hold and pulls away, breathless and kiss-swollen. That sight, too, is committed to memory; there’s no horror in the world that could make not coming back to that worth it, and Alex has a feeling he’ll need every motivation he can get. 

“How’s _that_ for incentive?” Michael asks, once he’s caught his breath. Alex gives him a dirty look as he tries to calm his racing heart, but it doesn’t do a thing to stop Guerin’s smirk. Not that he’d expected it to. 

“I’m not sure,” Alex says, because two can play that game. “Maybe we should try it again, just to make sure I’m completely motivated.” He angles his head hopefully, and sighs dramatically when Michael just drops a peck to his lips and steps away. The mood is a drastic change from earlier in the evening, when Alex felt like he would buckle under the weight of every responsibility he had taken on himself, and for once, Alex allows hope to balloon in his chest. He’s going to eradicate his father’s legacy-- and when it’s done, he’s got the promise of this.

“Fine,” Michael tells Alex, the rough quality of his voice dragging the latter out of the warm, contented feelings in which he’s buried himself. Slowly, they slide back into the seriousness of their earlier conversation, but with less anger. “We’ll do this. But you’re not going anywhere before we come up with a solid plan and cover story. And you’re going to listen to us. All of us. And at the first sign of trouble, we’re pulling your ass out of there, whether you like or not.” 

It’s hard to be angry at the fierce protectiveness in Michael’s voice; there aren’t many people in the world who have fought to keep Alex safe, but Michael’s always been one of them, in one way or another. Alex isn’t ashamed to admit that knowing Michael cares enough to feel that way makes him happy -- and for that reason, he’s willing to accept those terms. “I think I can agree to that,” he says, flashing Michael a small smile. “It’s going to be okay, Guerin. I can do this.”

Alex isn’t an idiot; he knows what he’s risking, and he knows that there’s a very slim possibility that he’ll walk away from this mission with his soul intact. The Manes family isn’t known for kindness and trust, even when there’s no good reason for suspicion, which Alex has definitely given them. There will be tests, and God knows what Alex will have to do. He also knows it’ll take a hell of a lot more than one lousy ‘it’ll be okay’ to reassure Michael enough for him to relax. 

But for Liz and Rosa, for Max and Isobel, and their entire little makeshift family, Alex would give it his best effort. No one would be able to say he didn’t care -- but he’s failed to keep Michael safe too many times in the past. He’s watched his father shatter the bones in his hand, he’s witnessed the other man’s mother suffer and ultimately die, and he’s broken his heart himself. He’s been a miserable failure where Guerin is concerned, and Alex refuses to add to the list.

For Michael, Alex will go to war, and he will win.

No matter what the cost.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets his foot in the door with Project Shepherd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay on this one guys! i did warn you that i'm not usually the updates-every-day sort of person, but i am setting a schedule for myself so i don't disappear for weeks at a time. hopefully it works!
> 
> thanks to soberqueerinthewild for her cheerleading, handholding, & assistance in getting rid of all instances of the word 'soldier' that slipped into this fic. all remaining mistakes are my own. also thanks to lire-casander for her support, assistance with middle names, and being all-around awesome. 
> 
> my goal is to have chapter 5 up by Thursday night! 
> 
> thanks for reading this crazy adventure of mine, y'all. <3

It’s frighteningly easy to get a meeting set up with the oldest of Alex’s brothers. Charlie responds almost instantly to the email he sends requesting a face-to-face, and surprises everyone by saying that he’s already in Roswell, and would love to see Alex the next day at 0900. His presence doesn’t bode well for the secrets they’re trying to keep; Charlie’s a sniper in the Air Force Special Operations Task Force. He’s rarely stateside, and for him to be in Roswell either signifies that he knows something, or that there’s something else going on that Alex doesn’t know. Neither option makes Alex particularly optimistic, but he can’t allow it to change anything.

Going in the next day isn’t ideal. Alex had been hoping for longer to research and develop his narrative, but there’s no stalling now. He’d been the one to request the meet -- it’ll look suspicious if he asks to postpone now, which is the last thing he needs. Charlie always had a soft spot for Alex when they were kids, but Alex knows better than to think that will matter if he gives the slightest reason for Charlie to doubt his sincerity. While Charlie may have smuggled him snacks when their father locked him in his room, and brought painkillers to the shed when Alex hid there after a beating, he’s still Jesse Manes’ son. There’s no such thing as the benefit of the doubt in that world. 

And, well -- Kyle had said it best, the evening before, when they’d finally settled down to review files and put together a game plan. “Aren’t any of you Manes guys normal meatheads?” he’d demanded, thumbing through Charlie’s file with increasingly anxious fingers. “Look at this! Charles A. Manes. Air Force Silver Star Recipient three different times. Sniper. Special Operations Task Force. Best known for taking out thirteen armed terrorists in a shoot-out by himself -- _this_ is the guy you think has a soft spot for you? Seriously? What if he’s already talked to Flint and decides to shoot you on sight?”

At the time, Alex had waved off the concern and pointed out that none of Jesse Manes’ sons could ever be average. Not if they wanted his approval. Charlie was Spec Ops, Hunter was an ace pilot, and Flint was head of Research and Development in several major projects. They were all brilliant in their fields -- but Alex had the distinct advantage of being the only one who’d given orders. The rest of them, as he’d once accused Flint, are sheep. They’re exceptional as long as there are directives in play; without them, they’ll fall like marionettes with their strings cut. 

At least, that’s Alex’s hope. As he stands in the middle of the bunker he’d requisitioned from Jesse Manes all those months ago, face-to-face with a brother he hasn’t seen in close to a decade, he’s not so sure. Valenti may have had a point, after all. Charlie looks nothing like the young man Alex remembers from brief visits between deployments; where once there’d been a liveliness to his dark eyes, there’s now only a cool, calculating stare. Age seems to have wiped away all traces of similarity to their mother, and Alex feels an uncomfortable wave of deja vu. Staring Charlie down in this bunker bears way too much similarity to the day he’d played the same game with their father and come out on top. 

Sandy colored hair, shorn in military style that hides the greys just beginning at the temples, posture so ramrod straight that it looks painful, and features that may as well be carved out of granite -- Charlie’s entire appearance screams ‘Jesse Manes’ son,’ and Alex can’t help but wonder if he’s made a mistake, expecting any measure of softness from this man. 

Just as he’s psyching himself out, though, Charlie steps forward and slaps Alex’s back in greeting. It’s as close to real affection as any of the Manes boys get, and, paired with a cool smile, it signifies that things are going even better than Alex could have hoped for. “It’s good to see you, kid,” Charlie tells him, glancing around the underground headquarters as if he was reacquainting himself with a space he hadn’t seen in a while. “You’re looking pretty good for a guy who got on the wrong end of an IED not so long ago. I’m impressed.” 

Alex can’t help but stand a little straighter as Charlie looks him over, the response as automatic and ingrained as jerking awake at the first ray of sun on his face or jumping to attention when he hears the order. He’s spent a lot of time on base acting as if he’s still got two legs -- pity isn’t something he can tolerate, and at first, there’d been no escaping it. It’s not pity that he’s worried about with Charlie, though; he just doesn’t want to give away any weaknesses. His missing leg is something that can’t be helped, nor can his brother’s knowledge of the injury, but he can damn well be sure that it’s made clear that the prosthetic doesn’t slow him down. 

“Sorry I couldn’t get back Stateside when you lost the leg,” Charlie continues, still scrutinizing Alex from all sides. “I tried, but I got shipped overseas two days later. Did you get my letter?” 

It’s so far from the suspicious welcome that Alex had been bracing for that he’s momentarily speechless. 

“I -- uh, yeah, I did,” Alex says when he pulls himself back together, and nods jerkily. “I meant to write back, but -”

Charlie shakes his head, a bizarrely affable smile on his face. “Don’t worry about it. You had more important things to worry about.” He moves around one of the temporary tables Alex has set up in the bunker, his every step infused with the sort of deadly grace that Alex could never hope to emulate. Charlie glances at some of the carefully-selected files spread out on top of the table. He never pauses long, but the laser-focus of his gaze tells Alex that he’s cataloguing every detail for later perusal. 

It’s part of the plan, for Charlie to see the work Alex has been doing, to believe he’s as dedicated to protecting the world from aliens as the rest of the men in their family, but he still has to clench his fists in the pockets of his jacket to stop from fidgeting. There’s nothing about Michael or the Evans’ twins in the contents of those pages; Alex refuses to endanger them further, even though Max and Guerin had both told him to use whatever he had to in order to get the information he needed. There are too many ways for that to backfire, though, and he refuses to risk it. There are other ways to earn his way into Project Shepherd than by throwing his people under the bus. 

“So,” Charlie says, after another moment of rifling through the files. “Dad decided to read you in, huh?” 

This is where it starts to get tricky, and Alex feels every muscle in his body tense. It’s an effort to maintain his nonchalant facade, but he manages it. “I had to hack into his databases first,” he tells the other man honestly. “But, yeah. Eventually.” He’s talked through his story with Kyle and Guerin at least twenty times the night before, and he’s prepared for anything Charlie might ask. Anxiety ebbs away as he slides into the well-rehearsed cover, and Alex feels himself becoming steadier, more dangerous -- more of the man who’d survived Baghdad and ten years of active duty service. 

“You know Dad would never trust me voluntarily. That hasn’t changed.” It’s no use pretending that Jesse had a magic change of heart about Alex’s ‘weakness.’ No one would be fooled. So the narrative isn’t so different from the truth, at least to begin. “But since I figured out the truth, even he can’t deny how useful I can be. At the very least, I can shore up your cyber defenses, because it took me less than half an hour to break in and get all of the intel on the Project’s servers. His access password was ‘password,’ for Christ’s sake.” There’s no pride in his tone, just matter-of-fact honestly and scorn for Jesse’s computer illiteracy. 

“And then I found out about Caulfield, and I wanted to see it for myself, you know? I thought Dad was crazy, but if there was proof …” Alex lets the thought trail off deliberately, knowing that sometimes less is more when it comes to this sort of story.

The mention of the off-books base makes Charlie’s expression darken, just enough that Alex notices. He leans back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest in a way that makes his muscles stand out in stark relief against his brown t-shirt, and Alex’s jaw tightens momentarily. If Charlie thinks things like overt displays of physical dominance are enough to scare him, he’s got another thing coming -- after growing up in a house with their father, Alex is pretty much desensitized to anything that Charlie could possibly try. 

“And then you went to Caulfield,” he prompts expectantly, eyes narrowed shrewdly. It’s a standard interrogation tactic employed by the military: don’t give away any of the answer when the question is asked. Use prompts rather than specifics. Lets the detained person say what’s really on their mind, take the answer in the direction they want -- and usually, they’ll implicate themselves. 

Alex isn’t that stupid. He blinks wide, guileless eyes, and nods slowly. “Yeah. Then I went to Caulfield.” He leaves Kyle out of the story for now. Flint knows, so it’ll come up at some point, but Alex isn’t eager to bring his friend into the tale, and it’s not really relevant at the moment, anyway. “I had to see them for myself, Charlie. I mean, aliens? It sounds like something out of a fucking Star Wars movie, not real life. I needed to see it. So I went.”

As he speaks, Alex is careful to maintain that careful air of naivete. The act balances on the knife’s edge between uselessness and innocence, and he needs to stay just on the side of innocence. If he takes it too far, Charlie will write him off as foolish and unhelpful, and that’s the last thing he wants -- but it’s important he play the awed younger brother just trying to follow in the family footsteps. That’s his ticket into the game. 

Charlie nods, his expression no less guarded. “And?” 

Christ, he’s not making this easy. Not that Alex had expected him to -- but it would have been nice. 

“And it’s hard to deny the truth when you’re standing right in front of them,” Alex says bluntly, letting some of the incredulity and fear he’d felt in that place seep into his expression. It feels odd, to be so calculating of his every movement and facial tic around someone that’s supposed to be his family, but he doesn’t let that stop him from doing it anyway. “Dad’s right. You’re _all_ right. There are fucking aliens invading our planet -- and I want to be part of trying to stop them.”

Silence echoes in the space between the two men, and Alex doesn’t look away from Charlie, doesn’t give him the chance to think that he might be lying. Instead, he lets that announcement sink in for a moment, then continues: “I know you’ve heard Dad saying that I’m weak for our entire lives, but I’ve served three tours on active duty, and did my time on the ground, just like the rest of you. I signed up to serve and protect my country, and I’ve done it. That’s part of who I am, now, and I can’t just ignore the alien threat. Dad may not like it, but I’m part of this family, too. Protecting people is in my DNA just as much as it is yours -- I want to be a part of Project Shepherd. I want to help.” 

The lies taste like ash in his mouth, and everything integral to Alex’s being rebels against the idea of being just another Manes sheep with no free will of his own. He’s had literal nightmares about that, about what he could have been capable of if his father had been able to crush his will. But he knows what Charlie wants to hear -- it’s the same thing all of his brothers have wanted to hear for his entire life. They want him to be one of them, another nameless airman in the generational parade, want him to stop asking questions and fall in line. And, most importantly, Alex knows what Charlie will be willing to believe. He’s learned from experience that people remember their first encounters with a person more than anything else. And to Charlie, Alex is always going to be the little boy determined to follow in his big brother’s footsteps, desperate for approval and in need of protection and advice. 

Charlie shifts his weight on his shiny, black boots, and looks at Alex steadily. “We’ve already got three people trying to run things here, Alex,” he says carefully, and the omission of ‘kid’ is either a sign of respect, or a signal that Charlie is trying to distance himself from Alex. Guessing which is dangerous, so Alex doesn’t try. “And even if I say yes, Dad’s not likely to be happy about it when he gets back. He’s been pretty clear about not wanting you onboard for a long time.” 

He appreciates that Charlie doesn’t try to pretend that Jesse Manes gives two shits about Alex. It’s easier that way, with at least some honesty between them -- and Alex has always hated it when someone tried to tell him that his father does care about him. Fathers who love their sons don’t break their bones to show it. They don’t spend years attempting to reshape their souls with their fists, like it’s nothing more than clay on a potter’s wheel. 

Alex snorts. “Dad’s never wanted me around, Charlie. That’s not news to me. But you said ‘when he gets back,’ right?” He’s walking the razor’s edge, now, and knows that if he over or under sells the act here, this is as far his mission will go. “If he’s not here, you’re running things.” It’s not a guess; Alex is no stranger to chain of command, and Charlie’s the highest ranking of the brothers by virtue of age, at the very least. 

“I’ve been stateside for three days, Alex,” Charlie says with a sigh, running a hand over his shorn hair. It’s the first sign of stress that he’s shown since arrival, and it’s enough to tell Alex that he’s getting somewhere. Charlie wants the extra help, wants to have another person to depend on -- it’s a fair bet he’s got access to Alex’s personnel file, too, and knows that Alex has the skills to actually be helpful. 

In other words, Alex has got an opening, and he’s going to exploit it. 

“And I’ve only been in Roswell for less than twenty-four hours. Dad fucked off somewhere without any warning _months_ ago, and Flint and Hunter have taken on most of the responsibility here. I can’t just read you in without talking to them first. It wouldn’t be right -- especially since Flint is pretty damned sure you purposefully blew up Caulfield with Kyle fucking Valenti.” 

The words don’t particularly surprise Alex; of course Charlie and Flint would have been in contact in the last six months if they’ve been working together. To make matters worse, Flint likely would have contacted Jesse as soon as it happened. Alex can’t be certain, but he’d be willing to be that intel is why Jesse showed up in Roswell despite Alex’s warnings and tried to kill Kyle, around the same time Max brought Rosa back to life. So no, he’s not thrown off by the fact that Charlie knows more than he let on initially -- but it’s still irritating to have it thrown back in his face. 

Alex narrows his eyes and crosses his own arms over his chest, keeping his weight perfectly centered on his legs to hide the ache that’s started in his bad knee from standing and posturing for so long. “Flint thinks I blew up a secure facility and nearly killed myself _on purpose_?” he asks, acid dripping from the words. “No wonder he’s been stuck in R&D for ten years. He’s clearly got no fucking common sense.”

Charlie quirks an eyebrow in an expression that Alex recognizes from looking in the mirror. “So you didn’t blow it up on purpose?” 

“I didn’t blow it up at all!” Alex says, the anger in his exclamation genuine. He’s not willing to take all of those deaths on his conscience, not even in a lie. “Some security protocol went off and the whole damn base self-destructed before I could do much more than stare at an old woman through the glass door, and get some insane story about a cancer-causing alien that sent Valenti off the deep end.” He sits slowly at the computer desk and tapped out a short sequence on the keyboard. On the monitors, the security footage of Valenti Sr. being shoved into the alien’s containment unit and, presumably, contracting brain cancer. Alex watches steadily, refusing to waver now. “If I’d realized that Valenti was going to find out our father murdered his, I would’ve left him in Roswell.”

Talking about something that is still causing Kyle so much pain in such a cavalier fashion makes Alex hate himself. He wants to scream when Charlie just nods, his lips twisted in disdain, like Kyle’s reaction to realizing his father had been murdered was somehow pathetic instead of justified. Thankfully, Alex doesn’t have to work very hard to hide his reaction; both he and Charlie are looking at the screens. “My guess is that he cracked one of containment cells, trying to get at the one who gave Jim the tumor, and it sparked the self-destruct.” 

Guerin hasn’t been mentioned thus far, and Alex knows Flint had no idea of his presence at Caulfield, so there’s no hesitation as Alex rewrites the truth to fit his needs. It would be stupid, if he didn’t know for a fact that Guerin’s not on any surveillance footage from that day -- Alex had been sure of that. He’d torn his way through the cyber defenses of whatever server the video had been backed-up on without any finesse and erased everything, practically daring them to trace the data trail back to him. It hadn’t been smart, but Alex hadn’t been in the right headspace to be smart, back then. Not after witnessing Michael losing his mother a moment after finding her. Not after their near-escape from a deadly explosion. Not after being shoved out of Michael’s life and losing the only sense of family he’d ever known for his best friend -- 

At the time, Alex had almost hoped they’d come for him.

But Guerin is safe, for now, because of that stupidity, so Alex can’t bring himself to regret it. 

Charlie’s brows furrow as he digests that explanation, and Alex can see his certainty waver. In that moment, Alex goes for the throat -- figuratively, of course. “Charlie, please,” he says, closing the video on the server and spinning his chair back around to look at his brother head-on. “You and Flint and Hunter are the only family I’ve got left. And you know I can be useful. None of you have the tech skills that I do, or the inside knowledge of Roswell. I’ve been here for months. I still have roots and connections here that none of you do. I can help. All you have to do is let me. And when Dad gets back, I promise, he won’t be able to deny that I’ve done good work.”

As he speaks, Alex is eight and standing in the kitchen of the house they all grew up in, begging a twenty-year-old Charlie to stay home after their mother had finally had enough and left. Then it’s Charlie, coming back on leave and swinging a six-year-old Alex around while he laughs. Or Charlie, smirking as Alex proudly smashed a guitar over Flint’s head at twelve, or the man in uniform, boarding the plane to take him back to the Middle East with a small smile over his shoulder just for Alex, who’s fifteen and cradling a broken wrist against his chest. It’s almost easy to want Charlie to believe him, to want to truly be on his brother’s side -- because despite everything he knows about Project Shepherd and the horrible things his brothers have done, a small, childish part of Alex is always going to want their acceptance.

But as much as Alex cherishes the memories of Charlie’s kindness, he hates the feelings of helplessness and impotence they evoke more. Since enlisting, Alex has built his life on the pillars of control and logic, his own sort of power, to make up for the lack in his childhood, and stepping into this situation has cost him all that work. 

But this is for _Michael_ , for Liz and Kyle and everyone in that group who’d come to mean something to him, and for them, Alex will allow his foundations to crumble, if that’s what it takes. This is only shaking them a little -- and tonight, at least, Alex has the promise of returning home to the one person who always makes him feel safe and stable.

“I’ll talk to Flint and Hunter,” Charlie says after a long, fraught silence. 

Alex can read the answer in his eyes, though -- he’s convinced the man that he can be trusted, and he’s done a good enough job that he can be sure Charlie will persuade the others one way or another. The calculating, ruthless part of his mind that Alex tries to keep locked down is pleased at the ease with which he manipulated Charlie -- the rest of him, the _human_ parts, just feel cold. 

“I can’t guarantee anything until I talk to them, and I’d be thinking of some specific ways to show them you’re worth the risk,” Charlie continues, and Alex’s stomach sinks. Proving his worth to an anti-alien task force is going to involve doing a lot of shit he doesn’t want to think about, he’s sure -- but that’s a problem for another day. He made it through today’s set, and Alex has every intention of taking the whole match. And he’ll have some time to plan, now -- if Hunter’s still in Afghanistan, as his records indicate, there’s no way Charlie will have a response for him in the next day or even two. Alex will make damn sure to take advantage of that time. 

“Thanks, Charlie,” Alex says with a smile that rings false to himself, but would fool anyone who didn’t know him well -- which, ironically enough, described his brother perfectly. 

“Don’t thank me yet,” the older man says with a grim twist of his lips, and for a moment, Alex wonders why he looks so unhappy. Is he really that worried about selling the idea to Flint and Hunter, who hang off of his every word? Or is this fear of their father -- reluctance to go against his will? Alex doesn’t know, but he wishes Charlie would stop looking at him with those pitying, worried eyes. It’s making it harder to keep the smile on his face.

To the younger brother’s unending surprise, Charlie pushes away from the wall he’s been leaning against and moves closer, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Take a couple of days of leave and think this over while I reach out, huh? This isn’t like the other ops you’ve been involved in. It’s not something you ever get to walk away from. Just -- remember that. Consider your options. You never wanted this life, kid, and you’ve already lost enough.” Dark eyes, so close in color to Alex’s own, sweep over his body to linger on his bad leg, and Alex shivers despite himself. 

Shock jolts like electricity down Alex’s spine at the thinly-veiled warning, and he opens his mouth to ask why Charlie is suddenly so worried about his choices -- or maybe to deny that he wants anything but the mission? Alex isn’t even sure. But Charlie is already walking away by the time Alex pulls himself together enough to speak. “I’ll call when I’ve got an answer for you,” he says over his shoulder, deep voice echoing off of the cavernous walls of the bunker as he begins the ascent to the surface. 

Alex stays seated in his desk chair long after Charlie disappears, staring at the blank wall in front of him. Doubt and insecurity encroaches on him, flickering like shadows in the corner of his mind, and for the first time, Alex allows himself to wonder if he’s gotten in over his head. For a long, dark hour, he lets his mind conjure one possible scenario after another, each one growing darker and darker, and all ending in the death of everyone he cares about. What if Charlie’s warning was a hint that they know his plan? What if his brothers are three steps ahead while Alex is lagging behind? What if they’re going after Guerin and the others as he sits here feeling sorry for himself? What if he loses the few parts of his soul that the war left him with? 

Eventually, Alex can’t take it anymore. The walls of the bunker are closing in on him, and if he doesn’t leave this place soon, he’s not sure he’ll be able to pull himself out of the spiral Charlie’s warnings had started. It’s so stupid that he’s reacting this way -- but he’s been running on caffeine and adrenaline and sheer stubborn determination for the last thirty-six hours, and now that the immediate threat is past, everything else is crashing down on him at once. The burden he’d taken on. The responsibility he’s shouldering. The fact that to succeed in this mission, he’s going to have to send Charlie and the rest of his biological family to prison.

Usually, when he has moments like this, Alex finds himself sitting behind the bar at the Wild Pony, or in the middle of Liz’s living room, or even with Mimi DeLuca in her little apartment. Being alone had never been particularly good for Alex’s mental health, and he knows that none of them would turn him away. 

But there’s only one other place he wants to be right now, and it’s not with any of them -- and for once, Alex is pretty sure that he won’t be turned away. 

Drawing in a deep, determined breath, Alex stands slowly, finds his equilibrium, and points himself toward home.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex goes home to Michael.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay in this one; i've been figuring out how i want this to end & ironing out some details. plus, schmoop is hard to write!
> 
> my last week of work before summer vacation is this coming week, so i'm hoping to get this wrapped up fairly quickly! it's also looking like 15 chapters rather than the 10 I estimated -- i'll know more about that after the next chapter. 
> 
> next update will definitely be next weekend, maybe a little earlier.

Michael’s up to his shoulders in the guts of an ancient Volkswagen when Alex pulls into the gravel drive of the junkyard. He’s either so engrossed in his repairs that he doesn’t hear Alex’s approach, or he’s just ignoring it under the assumption that Alex is just another customer trying to get repairs done even though business hours are over. Guerin’s the best mechanic in town, and though the people of Roswell are quick to dismiss him as the town drunk, they’re just as fast to forget that when their cars start acting up. It’s the sort of double standard Roswell loves: those people will beat a man until he bleeds and come back for a second round, but as soon as they need something, they’ll still expect their victim to bend over backwards for them. 

It’s easier to relax now that Alex has Michael in his line of sight, and he exhales slowly as he slides out of the driver’s side of his of his SUV. His eyes linger for a moment on the way Michael’s body fills out the worn denim of his oil-streaked jeans, because he’d have to be dead before he stopped appreciating Guerin’s physique, but he’s not only looking for that, tonight. Sex is fucking fantastic, but he needs to fill a need more basic than that. He needs to feel settled in his skin, to be reminded of the man that he is now, rather than the kid he used to be. 

Guerin can’t give him those things; Alex needs to do it himself, and he knows that. But for ten years, Michael’s arms have been the only place Alex has felt safe. While enlisted, he’d been afraid to replay those memories too often for fear he’d wear them out and forget completely, so he’d only allowed himself to think of Michael on the worst days, when he couldn’t pull himself together on his own, and even Michael’s imaginary presence was better the inescapable sense of isolation that came from being the only one who seemed to realize that military action was just another name for evil. 

“Alex?” Michael’s in front of him, frowning in a way that suggests he’s been trying to get Alex’s attention for a while. “What’s wrong?” He wipes his palms on the bottom of his t-shirt, and for a moment, it looks like he’s going to reach out, but his hands find their way into the pockets of his jeans instead. “The meeting with your brother go bad?” The question is calm, but Alex is too good at reading the other man to miss the way his eyes immediately scan the horizon, as if expecting an army of MPs to descend upon them at any moment. 

Alex shakes his head quickly, not wanting to cause any unnecessary fear. “No, no. It went --” He grapples for the right word, and gives up. “Charlie bought the story. He’s reaching out to Flint and Hunter as we speak, so I should have access to the Project within a week, as long as Hunter’s on base and not off comms.” The information comes quick and succinct, a post-op briefing, and Alex looks away afterward. Michael’s not his commanding officer, and Alex knows that, but asking for what he actually wants is harder than it should be now that he’s standing so close to it.

“Okay,” Guerin drawls, batting a rogue curl away from his forehead. “You wanna come inside? I need to change. And probably shower.” He glances down at himself, as if just noticing the mess of oil and sweat masquerading as clothing. “Or you can head to Max’s, and I’ll meet you in an hour -- Isobel’s staying there until all this blows over, and Liz has basically been living there since we brought him back, so dinner’s pretty much an open invitation for a while. You can fill us in, and we can keep planning, maybe come up with some contingencies in case shit goes sideways.” 

Normally, the promise of sitting down to dinner with their friends would be a good way to end a shitty day, but right now, Alex wants to have Michael to himself for a while. “Do you think we could go over later?” he asks, squinting into the sun in an effort to meet the other man’s eyes. “I want to go, I just -” 

Guerin looks at Alex for a long moment after the sentence trails off, then takes a slow, uncertain step forward. “It seems like you’re asking me for something,” he says finally, his voice quiet and eyes searching. Beneath his gaze, Alex feels like his every insecurity and anxiety is written on his face; no one’s ever seen him like Guerin has, and it used to terrify him that someone could look at him and see the man he is beneath the surface. It’s taken Alex a long, long time to accept himself for the man he is, rather than constantly judging himself against others -- in fact, it’s still a work in progress. But he knows he’s made some, because now, Alex looks at Michael and revels in the fact that someone can know him like that and want to stick around anyway.

“But I don’t know what it is, Alex. You gotta tell me what you want. I’m not the mind-reader, remember?” 

It’s fair. Alex is pretty sure Michael has a pretty good idea of what he wants, or at least a reasonable guess, but they said that they’d talk about the two of them after the mission was complete. Right now, the mission’s barely started, no one is really safe, and they haven’t talked about anything. It’s probably wrong for Alex to do this, to show up here looking for refuge without any explanation or attempt to ask permission, but he can’t bring himself to leave, either. So instead, he swallows, and closes the short distance remaining between their bodies. 

His palms land on either side of Michael’s face, and Alex tilts his head to rest their foreheads together. Guerin’s skin is tacky against his own, damp with sweat, but Alex barely notices. He just holds Michael there for a minute, wishing, for once, that he could just reach into Alex’s mind and take the explanation from his thoughts. Michael turns to granite against him, still and rigid, but he doesn’t pull away. That’s all the permission Alex needs.

“I spent all day pretending to be someone I’m not,” Alex says with Michael’s breath against his cheek. “And Charlie -- I think he was trying to _protect me_ , and I was manipulating him. And I have to work out how I feel about that, and what comes next, and I just wanted to be somewhere safe to figure all of that out.” The explanation is disjointed, and the emotions connected to it are too, even for Alex; he can feel, but everything is separate, confusing, like images twisted in a kaleidoscope. 

“You wanted to be somewhere safe,” Michael repeats, a strange vulnerability in the words that Alex doesn’t understand. “And you came to _me_?” 

Alex blinks, and steps back enough that he can see Michael’s face, but his hands linger on broad shoulders that have suddenly gone tense beneath his touch. “Should I -- not have?” he asks warily, trying to figure out what he’d said to cause this reaction. He’s fairly sure it wasn’t the touching. Guerin seemed fine with that. But how is admitting that he’s always been Alex’s safe place to land a bad thing? Surely he already knew that? “Do you want me to leave?”

“What? No! No, I --” Alex watches as Guerin’s throat works, trying to ignore the way his stomach twists in uncertainty. “I just meant that I haven’t given you any reason to feel safe around me, lately,” Michael says finally, the words blunt and forceful. Again, Alex is left floundering, trying to figure out how the hell they got here when only moments ago, Michael had seemed calm. But now, his expression is shuttered, closing Alex out of his thoughts and leaving him guessing. This isn’t what he’d been expecting when he came here, and part of him wants to shove his fingers in his ears and tell Guerin to stop talking, to leave it until after the mission like they’d agreed, but he knows he can’t. Not unless he’s prepared to turn around and leave, and Alex knows he won’t be able to do that. Walking away from Michael has always been too damn hard, and now, with no good reason, Alex knows it’ll be all but impossible. 

“Fuck, Alex, the last time you wanted to talk, I stood you up and went to Maria,” Michael continues, his voice a raw strain of vocal cords. “I lost my shit after Caulfield, and what happened to Max, and you kept bailing me out, and got dragged into all of it -- and now you’re lying to your brother and feeling shitty about it _because of me_. Don’t you ever think about how much easier your life would be if you just told me to fuck off for good?” 

Alex can’t look at Michael anymore, not when he’s talking like that. This day has already worn on him more than he wants to think about, and this conversation is fraught with pitfalls and potential missteps, and Alex knows that he’s not going to be able to navigate it safely. But there’s no way to avoid it now, not without allowing Michael to believe the things he’s saying, and he’s literally sick to his stomach at the thought of it. 

“No,” he says bluntly, his fingers digging into Guerin’s shoulders in a pathetic effort to keep the other man close. They’ve talked about Maria and the thought processes that led to Michael in her bed, and Alex doesn’t think they need to discuss it further -- certainly not today, when the thought of the other man with someone would sound far too much like another rejection. So he skips over that, choosing to focus instead on the rest of it. 

“I don’t, because easy doesn’t mean shit to me, Michael. Nothing in my life has ever been easy. So if I have to fight for the things that make me happy, then fine. I’ve been fighting other people’s wars for what feels like my entire life. At least I chose to fight for you. And I’m going to keep choosing this fight, whether it makes me feel like I’m losing myself or not, because it’s the right thing to do.” 

Alex’s hands slide down Michael’s shoulders to his hands, and he squeezes tightly as he tries to explain himself. “With them, with Charlie and Flint and everyone on base, I have to play a part. I have to act like a Manes, take orders, and keep my head down, and I’m going to have to do things that I hate. That’s what I signed up for. No one made me do that, and I’m not changing my mind.” He forces a fierce decisiveness into that statement, though it’s not clear whether he’s directing it toward himself or Michael. “I was just really hoping you’d be willing to help remind me who I really am, afterward.” 

Allowing himself to be vulnerable isn’t something Alex is particularly good at, but there’s a waver in his voice that he can’t hide, and there’s no uniform or mission talk to hide behind, now. All of his cards are on the table -- what he wants, what he’s going to have to do, why he’s here -- and it’s up to Michael to call or draw. 

There’s an achingly long moment in which Alex is sure Michael’s going to brush him off, to pull that damned devil-may-care smirk out of his back pocket and secure it over the naked longing on his face, but he doesn’t. Alex’s eyes slide closed in relief as Michael just nods, and curls a possessive hand around the back of his neck to pull him in. “Sorry,” he mutters, as Alex presses his face into the damp skin of his neck, relief like a cool breeze down his spine. “Max kicked me out of his place earlier because I couldn’t relax and was putting everyone else on edge. I kept thinking about you alone with someone who might hurt you, and --” he shrugs, trailing off with a bitter twist of his lips. 

Alex sighs, and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the warm skin beneath his lips. “I’m okay,” he promises quietly. 

Michael’s explanation puts his earlier reaction into new perspective, and Alex feels guilty for not understanding sooner. The other man had been against the plan from the beginning, and had only ever agreed because Alex made it clear that no one could stop him. He’s been worried for Alex’s well-being from the start; Max and Liz and the others might know that his family was messed up and hurt him, but Michael knows the details. He understands exactly what this mission could do to Alex, and he wasn’t even allowed to come provide back-up from a distance for the meeting this morning, though he’d lobbied to do so. Of course he’s anxious today, just as Alex would be in his place.

“If we can go inside, I’ll let you check for yourself, if you want,” Alex offers, and wonders how long they’ll last before their clothes are scattered across the small floor of the trailer and their bodies are tangled together. They’ve never been good at spending time alone together in confined spaces without something escalating; the electricity between them is hard to ignore in a room full of people, but once the only eyes on them are that of the walls surrounding them, it’s all but impossible. Sometimes that energy manifests in wandering hands and slick skin-on-skin, and sometimes, on bad days, it turns into shouting matches and barbed words aimed where they hurt most.

Michael huffs an amused sound against the top of Alex’s head and pulls back, just to join their hands and lead them back toward the trailer. Alex follows easily, and as soon as the door has closed behind them, allows himself to be drawn back into a heated kiss. He gasps into Michael’s mouth in surprise, then finds himself shoved back against the door with hands rucking his shirt up past his stomach before he can get his hands on the other man at all. When he catches up, they land in Michael’s hair, using the grip to angle his mouth better against his own. 

Warm, calloused palms move from his abdomen up his chest, and when Alex’s shirt disappears over his head, he tries to follow suit with Michael’s -- but he stops him with a gentle grip on his wrists. It takes him a moment to realize in the fever of the moment that Michael is taking him at his word, checking every inch of exposed skin with his free hand for injury. Alex tips his head back against the wall with a hollow thud and gives himself over to the inspection, trying to catch his breath.

“I told you,” he manages, biting back a moan when Michael’s searching touch slips below the waistband of his pants. “He didn't hurt me, Guerin. I’m okay. I’m here with you, and I’m okay.” Alex’s eyelids slam shut as the fly of his pants is undone, and despite his best effort to calm himself down, he knows exactly what Michael looks like on his knees, and he can’t help but picture it when he hears limbs hit the tin floor. The low-lidded, heavy look in his eyes, the flush that spreads across his cheeks when Alex is naked in front of him, the enthusiasm with which he leans in-- 

“You’re not gonna stop me?” Michael asks roughly, his breath hot and humid against Alex’s skin. 

Alex draws a shuddering breath and opens his eyes, then dips his chin to look at Michael. The image is exactly like he’d pictured it, and lust hits him hard in the stomach. He tamps down on it immediately, and forces himself to ask, “Do you want me to?” 

Guerin shakes his head forcefully enough that his curls fall in his eyes, fingers curling into Alex’s thighs for balance. “I want this,” he says raggedly, pressing a kiss against one exposed hipbone. “I want you, and I’m tired of waiting.”

This isn’t what they had planned, but Alex doesn’t give a shit anymore. Maria and all of the reasons they hadn’t managed to make this work before seem small and far away in comparison to the threat of what they face now -- Alex wants things solidified with Michael, wants to move them from the amorphous something they’d been for the last year to partners in every sense of the word, and if it’s selfish, he’s not sure he cares anymore. If he’s going to survive running with his brothers for any length of time and involving himself in their dirty work with his soul intact, then he needs Michael’s anchoring presence. And maybe it’s hubris, but he’d like to think that need goes both ways.

“No more waiting,” Alex promises, and they lose themselves in the refuge of one another. 

It’s hours later, as they’re getting dressed to head to Max’s for dinner, that Alex has to destroy the contented silence between them with painful, gory reality. “Charlie told me I needed to think of a way to prove myself to Flint and Hunter,” he says quietly, pausing in the middle of securing his prosthetic over the stump of his leg. “It’s going to have to be something big, if I want to convince Flint. He told Charlie about Caulfield, that I blew it up on purpose to fuck Dad over or something.”

Michael’s foggy, post-sex look disappears as soon Alex starts talking, and the sharp, intelligent expression that replaces it reminds Alex that while Guerin is usually happy to let others talk over him and consider him the town drunk, there isn’t anyone in Roswell that can match his IQ. “Sounds like you already have a plan,” he says, sliding a clean button-up shirt on over his bare chest. As usual, Michael leaves way too many of the buttons undone, revealing a wide swath of skin. 

Alex bites at his lower lip and finishes with his leg before answering. “You’re not going to like it, and Isobel is probably really going to hate me for suggesting it, but I can’t see any other way. Obviously I’m not giving them any of you, and I have to be careful what information I let on that I have, in case it leads back to you.” 

A calloused hand cups his chin, forcing Alex to look up at Michael. “Alex. Just tell me what you’re thinking, and we’ll figure it out,” he says firmly, and there’s not an inch of give in the words. Like it’s just that easy. Like it isn’t going to dredge up all sorts of painful memories for everyone involved, like it isn’t disgusting and disrespectful and in direct conflict with every moral that Alex has left. 

But Alex has already committed to moving forward with this operation, and unless Michael or one of the others has a better idea, this is all they’ve got. So he drags in a deep breath, rests his palm over the back of Michael’s hand, and asks, “Do you remember where you buried Noah’s body?”


End file.
